"Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." — Calvin & Hobbes

Rest in peace, Uncle Peter

Dear, Sweet, Peter
Gone from this world of pain you are finally at rest.
My heart is heavy. My tears flow freely.
You left today, the battle is over.
Today you run and sing with the angels. — Written by my mom on June 4, 2014

Dear Uncle Peter,

I’m sorry I can’t write something beautiful in your memory. My mother expressed her emotions far better than I ever could.
I’m sorry I haven’t seen you for years, long enough that the memories are grey and faded.
I’m sorry I never sent the Get Well Soon card I intended to when I heard you were sick.
I’m sorry I never called to say hello and ask how you were doing.
I’m sorry I never visited to show you much I cared.
I’m sorry I can’t remember the last time I told you I loved you.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was praying for you, because I was, every day.
I’m sorry I waited to do all these things, because now it’s already too late.

I love you. I’m still praying for you, for your wife, your sisters, and all your loved ones who mourn your passing. May God grant you rest and make your memory to be eternal.

Hi, Sandy. Thank you for the condolences and especially for the prayers. Now that I think about it, I realize my focus on prayer is partly an attempt to assuage the feeling of helplessness that comes with being so far away from my family during a shared tragedy. It’s all I can do, so I’m seeking it even more fervently. Thanks for reading and I hope to see you again.

Thanks, Colleen. I feel very loved. And the compliment means a lot coming from you. As for the beauty of the piece, if I hadn’t been participating in Writing 101, I might have just posted my mom’s poem as a standalone piece. I thought hers was beautiful, and most of my feelings go out to her; in fact, of the two letters I’ve posted regarding my uncle’s illness, I much prefer the one I wrote to her (http://wp.me/p4FKit-4x). I can’t help but feel a bit of an emotional disconnect — my strongest feeling in the face of this tragedy is my regret that I allowed myself to drift apart from a very dear uncle in the last five years or so of his life. We always think we have more time, but we never truly know.

No we don’t, do we. I understand. And I’m sure we all do that with people. HOw many of us have experienced the loss of someone dear in our lives and wonder why it had been so long since we saw/talked/spent time with one another.